


Some Say the World Wil End

by Anonymous



Category: Kingdom of Heaven (2005)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-28
Updated: 2009-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:14:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. ~Robert Frost</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Say the World Wil End

**Author's Note:**

> Nathalie is named after the actress who played her (thanks to [Dala](http://the_dala.livejournal.com) for allowing me to use this idea). I've modernized some of the French in this; _boeuf bourgin'n_ is a beef stew, _j'suis pleine_ means literally 'I'm full,' but is an idiom that translates to 'I'm pregnant.'

Balian's skin was always grimy, but she never made him wash. He was so warm that she could not bear to send him out to the well to strip and douse his head with chill water. The blood under his skin flowed easily and when he touched her, she always hoped that the heat in his fingers would warm her, loosen the thick, sluggish blood in her veins.

It was so cold in their house, despite all the work he had done on the walls and thatch to keep the wind out, that she wrapped herself in blankets and sat as close to the hearth as she could without catching fire.

"Nathalie?" he called.

The _boeuf bourguin'n_— the meat had not been too old, but had taken hours of cooking, and was as tender as it would ever be; she had been glad to put in some of the last sprigs of thyme— sat in its pan, next to her, and she smiled at him, and held out a plancher. "Kiss me, you're filthy," she said.

He sank down next to her, on the far side, away from the heaped logs, and slid his hand into the looser strands at the back of her neck. "I'll wash," he offered, his lips against her cheek.

"No, stay here. You must be tired," she said.

"I am," he admitted, taking the stew up, not even noticing the heat of the bowl, and dipping the bread in. He murmured a brief blessing over it and stirred, trying to soften the hard lump.

His mother, dead these dozen years past, had been devout; Nathalie's _Maman_ had said she had been a bit touched, wanting to be a nun or somesuch, before Balian's birth. Nathalie herself always found the way he whispered prayers before eating to be a little frightening; surely God was not interested in every detail of their daily life? It was a disquieting thought— but _le père_ told her that God knew her every action and every thought, and she liked that idea less.

She shivered, and leaned against the sturdy warmth of her husband's body. "Balian?"

"Mmm?" He bit off a piece of the bread and held it out to her. "Have you eaten? I'm sorry, a traveler came through and insisted that his horse be reshod. I could hardly blame him, the poor creature's shoes were near worn-through, but I had already sent the apprentices home."

She had eaten; the stew had burned her tongue and she had been surprised by the pleasure she got from breaking apart the bread, the sharp yeasty scent, like the fields after rainfall in spring, the loam like Balian's eyes, bringing water springing up in her mouth. "_J'suis pleine_," she said. He turned his head sharply.

"Nathalie—"

"_Pleine_," she repeated. He pressed his mouth to her temple, carefully, as though she were the Virgin Mother herself. She did not want that gentle tenderness, she wanted an embrace like the ones Marie-Thérèse and Jeanne whispered of in the village. She knew Balian could warm her from the inside, for he had done so; secretly she was convinced that the babe in her belly had begun the night his mouth had brushed over her skin with such heat she trembled even to think of it.

No child could begin in such cold as she ordinarily felt, and she prayed, clumsily, more for Balian than herself, that the child would survive the ice in her heart.

She had hoped that Balian, living as he did amongst the forge, could melt it, and she still did, but more out of habit than true expectation.


End file.
